


Black Hole

by ComplimentaryCuller



Series: Among the Stars verse [3]
Category: Homestuck
Genre: Fighting, M/M, Moirallegiance, cursing, succession duel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-15
Updated: 2017-07-15
Packaged: 2018-12-02 13:25:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,406
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11510337
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ComplimentaryCuller/pseuds/ComplimentaryCuller
Summary: “So,” The Grand Highblood growled, looking down sharply at his descendant. “It's my traitorous spawn, come to challenge.”Gamzee glared at him. “So,” he mimicked. “It's my most mirthless and tits-up of unmiraculous ancestor, come to die.”His ancestor snorted at him. “You have whimsy in you, wriggler. It's a shame you're a traitor.”





	Black Hole

The planet The Grand Highblood had chosen for the succession duel was cold and barren, and Gamzee thought to himself that his palest looked for all the world like a baa-beast, although he didn't risk a knock around the horns to say it, even to see him blush scarlet. Their ships had been orbiting the nearby planets for three nights, not wanting the Empiricists to get there first, but not wanting to be lured into a trap. As he shifted his weight from one foot to another, he breathed in the cold air deeply, twirling his clubs. Across the neutral field, away from the dueling ring, the Mirthfuls had set up a temporary carnival, a few of the newer recruits lounging on beach sit-platforms and drinking Faygo, leering across the field at the rebels. The cheering and hymns cut off abruptly, having almost blended into the background, and silence reigned as The Grand Highblood strode into the ring. Kissing his moirail’s hand, Gamzee went to meet him.  
“So,” The Grand Highblood growled, looking down sharply at his descendant. “It's my traitorous spawn, come to challenge.”  
Gamzee glared at him. “So,” he mimicked. “It's my most mirthless and tits-up of unmiraculous ancestor, come to die.”  
His ancestor snorted at him. “You have whimsy in you, wriggler. It's a shame you're a traitor.”  
Unpleasantries exchanged, they nodded at each other, taking three long steps back, and the ring music started. They circled each other, steps sure, and The Grand Highblood struck first, spiked club swung heavily, connecting only with Gamzee’s afterimage, its source striking at The Grand Highblood’s knees, Gamzee recovering quickly when his clubs met only frigid air. He ducked low and stilt-walked backwards, narrowly avoiding a strike from the side. Whipping around to face his ancestor, he swung his clubs, and the battle turned into a flurry of unmet blows, neither striking a hit nor gaining one. And then Gamzee did something he didn't expect. As The Grand Highblood drew back his spiked club, Gamzee leapt on it at the last moment, and catapulted himself forward, and clubbed a horn just above the base, kicking it as he flew past for good measure, and it snapped off, bleeding indigo. The Grand Highblood choked, features twisting into a snarl of pain, and whirled around to meet his descendant, unbalanced and enraged. Gamzee grinned. He had him.  
“Finally taking this seriously, Grandy?”  
The Grand Highblood hissed at him, sclera red.  
“Shut it, wriggler.”  
They flew at each other, The Grand Highblood unbalanced, overcompensating on his left for his missing horn, and Gamzee went low, launching himself at his ancestor’s weaker spots. The Grand Highblood was flagging, that much was evident to both sides, but it didn't sink in for the Mirthfuls till they saw their leader sink to a knee, left leg stuck with shards of his own chitin and bone, and right arm limp and loose at his side, club long since dropped from the both dislocated and crushed limb. Gamzee stood in front of his ancestor, face emotionless behind his paint, even as his ancestor hissed at him.  
“Well, wriggler, going to finish me off, or stand there like a doll?” He sneered.  
Gamzee looked to Karkat, cocking his head. “Well, brother mine? What say you?”  
Karkat went to his moirail’s side, tucking himself under an arm, and considered The Grand Highblood. The Grand Highblood held his stare.  
“We don't want to kill you, you know,” Karkat said. “We only want to be free. You could be a good ally, you know.”  
The Grand Highblood spat at him. “Don't play games, mutant. I know of what you speak, your ancestor,” the word seemed to leave a foul taste in his mouth. “Told me all about it as he writhed upon his jut.” He sneered. “Be nice to see you there, too, make a pretty si-” Gamzee cut him off abruptly, winging his clubs at him furiously, smashing in his head. He stood there panting for a few beats, ring music dying down from its crescendo, and surveyed the Mirthfuls, his Mirthfuls, his church, his posse, and raised his fist.  
“WHOOP WHOOP!!!” He yelled to them, teeth bared in victory as he greeted them in the tongue of The Family.  
“WHOOP WHOOP!!!” They answered exuberantly.  
Karkat pulled him down by a horn for a savagely pale kiss, giddy with his moirail’s victory. Releasing him, they pulled back a moment, before Karkat hugged him, spinning him around in a circle, his mutant, almost sea-dwelling strength no longer a surprise to his moirail. Karkat set Gamzee down, grinning up at him, and Gamzee smiled back.  
“Told you I could do it, pabe. Didn't get a scratch, neither.”  
Karkat raised an eyebrow.  
“Oh, and what's that, then?” He said, poking harshly at a shallow, but wide cut on Gamzee’s thigh.  
He winced. “Not a scratch, though, pabe. More of a slice, ain't it?”  
Karkat whacked his arm. “Come on, idiot, we have troops to manage.”

 

\-------------------

 

When the first fight started, it really shouldn't have been such a surprise. To be fair to them, it had been going rather well, till then. Many of the older priests and Cardinals had quickly surmised the situation, and complied with their leader’s evident, although not clearly expressed, wishes, cooperating with the members of the rebellion and bringing reports and locations to the higher in command that had come with them. Most of the younger cadets had followed their example, although some had been dismissive of the warmer blooded soldiers. The worst of it, however, came in the form of barely post-molt laughsassins getting absolutely wrecked on Faygo and deciding it would be an excellent idea to mess with some of the warmbloods. They decided to achieve this, of course, by cornering them against one of the ships, and using their chucklevoodoos on them. When the screaming began, and their mocking laughter, an all out brawl started. Gamzee, of course, had been across the encampment, with Karkat making a suitable fuss over him. By the time he had gotten there, nearly a score of Mirthfuls and rebels had joined in. This was less than optimal. He skidded to a stop in front of it, and pushed through the crowd, eyes blazing in fury, Karkat seething with rage as he followed.  
“ALRIGHT, EVERYONE STAND THE *FUCK* DOWN, RIGHT EXACTLY NOW!!!” Karkat screeched, bringing everyone to a halt, Mirthfuls looking up in shock even as the rebels reflexively stood at attention.  
“ _And what the fuck is going on here?_” Gamzee growled.  
One of the instigators looked at him recalcitrantly.  
“Aw, c’mon, Grand, we were just havin' a bit of fun with em, didn't mean anything by i-”  
Gamzee kicked him into the side of the ship, denting the metal. He seized him by a horn, pinning them to the ship.  
“Not what I asked, motherfucker. I'll ask a-fucking-gain, what. The motherfuck. Is going on here?” He hissed.  
One of the rebels spoke up, voice hoarse as she leaned on a quadrant. “They cornered us, we were moving supplies, and they started using their voodoos on us. I think they had been drinking, they reeked of Faygo.” Gamzee looked to the others that had been attacked for confirmation.  
“Is that right, fuckers?” He narrowed his eyes as the Mirthfuls looked away, fidgeting. His lip curled. He dropped the one he had been holding by the horn, wiping his hands off on his uniform in disgust, and looked to one of the Archbishops present, voice cold. “30 lashes for each, and make sure they scar. I'll brook no disagreement.” He turned to go, before looking back. “Find a whip with spikes, too. I won't have any in The Family acting as if they're better than someone because of a petty thing like blood.” He sneered at the shocked Mirthfuls, and strode away, arm around his moirail’s waist. A few Deacons pulled the instigators to their feet, dragging them off to the penitentiary blocks, and the rebels helped the wounded to the doctorturer’s tent. As soon as they reached their tent, Gamzee slumped heavily on Karkat, his moirail easily supporting his weight. He looked to Karkat worriedly.  
“Did I do alright, invertibro? I don-”  
Karkat kissed him, pale affection evident. “You did wonderfully, chucklefuck. You were perfect. You’re perfect.”  
Gamzee smiled at him softly. “Pity you, Crabby-kat.”  
Karkat whacked his horn gently. “Don't call me that, you pitiful idiot. Gog.”


End file.
